My Talking Bird
by Endgame Scribe
Summary: I'll love you all your days, until the breath leaves your fragile frame.


**My Talking Bird**

**Disclaimer - Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, while the title and summary credits go to Death Cab for Cutie - none of this is mine. I take no credit.**

When Kurt was first handed Pavarotti, he thought it was a joke. He'd tried to laugh it off, but the stiff formality with which the Warblers conducted themselves simply made everything more awkward.

But the little bird grew on him. It would titter back at him whenever he muttered to himself, making it as if he was carrying on an actual conversation, as if he was a talking bird. He'd gush over his old friends from McKinley, and he'd bitch about how Blaine was acting whenever they were at school.

"I mean, it's almost as if he's back in the closet, Pav," Kurt would complain. "I respect his interests, but he's not the boy I saw at Breadstix."

Pavarotti would chirp sympathetically – if a bird can actually be sympathetic – and Kurt began to consider him a friend. A small friend, one that he didn't really know much about apart from what he would eat and what he wouldn't, but he was still a friend.

When he first brought Pavarotti home, Finn was enthralled by him. He'd always wanted a pet, but had never gotten one. For the first five minutes, he was set on adopting Pav.

Then Pav squawked at him when he tried to pick him up, and pecked at his fingers. Finn dropped the poor bird, and he shook out his wings, casting a dark look up at the boy and squalling on the floor. Kurt had proceeded to hit Finn's shoulder and cradle the bird in his hands, going from yelling at Finn to cooing at Pavarotti.

Finn made sure to stay far away from the bird after that.

Boarding at Dalton, Kurt had figured that he could go home during weekends and breaks. That didn't work out so well. With all the extra practice he had to catch up with the rest of the Warblers along with the rigorous academics at the school, Kurt barely had time to breathe, much less visit the Hudmel house or his old friends. He might text Mercedes, Tina, or even Rachel when he had a spare moment, but they became few and far between.

When Pavarotti had started to molt, Kurt thought he had killed the poor thing. Of course, when Blaine had waved away his fears, he'd felt like such a fool, but it was still nice to know that Pav wasn't going to die. And when Blaine had started talking about Pavarotti, there had been that _tone_ in his voice that he just couldn't place. Certainly no one had ever spoken to him like _that_.

As time went on, Kurt found everything did get easier to manage – though not too much. Pavarotti continued to listen to Kurt's complaints, which began to revolve around Blaine's numerous solos.

In the midst of it all, the Misery performance was actually the best he'd ever seen the Warblers perform. It just irked him that they really thought they couldn't win without Blaine as the front man.

The morning after that performance, Kurt was getting ready, going through his skincare routine and singing a few scattered notes with Pavarotti when the little bird just stopped singing.

"Pavarotti?" he'd called out cautiously, and was rewarded with silence from the bird, who was now lying at the bottom of the cage and refusing to respond.

Ever since he was eight years old, attending his mother's funeral, he'd never dealt well with death. That's why he hadn't gotten a pet since then, hadn't even gotten a plant to take care of. Seeing Pavarotti lying stiff on the bottom of the cage, tears began to burn behind his eyes.

He spent half the day looking for the tape, but he finally found it, and brought it to the Warbler's rehearsal room. Blackbird had always been one of his favorites – the Beatles had been some of the only music Kurt and his father agreed on – and he put everything he had in it. All his frustration, his stress, and his sadness. He didn't understand why everything good in his life had to be taken away.

And somehow, Pavarotti still seemed to be listening, even though he wasn't there. Kurt felt his presence constantly, ever-present as his own shadow.

When Blaine had started to explain why he wanted to have the duet, he could barely concentrate on the words, even though the only thing in the room seemed to be Blaine: his eyes, his hair, his hand on Kurt's own. And when he leaned in, Kurt nearly died. The warm pressure on his lips made him draw a quick breath, almost like a hiss, and his hand reached up automatically to cup Blaine's jaw. It was everything he'd wanted – no, it was so much more.

Kurt and Blaine had continued _practicing_ for some time, and once they got in some actual practice time, they felt good about their chances for Regionals, though the New Directions had hinted at having something special up their sleeves.

In the end, the original songs and actual dancing had won the McKinley kids the title. But, as Blaine pointed out as they stood by Pavarotti's grave, they'd gotten each other – which was definitely better than some trophy.

Walking off while holding Blaine's hand, he smiled at how everything had been set in motion by Pav. Looking back at the little grave, he sent a silent thank you to his talking bird.

**Just something I noticed - Blaine only did something because Pav died. Feedback, pretty please?**


End file.
